The One
by Razer Athane
Summary: But if Lars is ice, formed and controlled, then Hwoarang is fire – pure and untamed, but just as bitter. Just as angry. Just as hurt. Just as powerful. -Hwoarang x Lars, Oneshot-


Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Tekken.

Author's Note: This is all. Your. Fault. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE, WOMAN. A single line… and it evolved into _this._

…Oh this is sort of AU. Hi lol.

* * *

**THE ONE**

* * *

When Hwoarang heard rumours of another 'resistance', another _rival _to Kazama, he swore he was gonna punch the messenger, even though he's promised that he wouldn't. He's very capable of doing so, though, and God did he feel like it.

"What do you mean there's another resistance?" he roars, glowering down at the shorter, younger man. When he realises how intimidating he's being, to the point where the messenger can barely form a coherent response, he backs off, spins on his heel and kicks a nearby cardboard box, watching as it collapses against the wall.

The messenger pulls his leather jacket closer to his body. It's cold tonight. Very cold, "I mean there is a small Tekken Force unit that has rebelled, become a resistance to the Zaibatsu… fighting against Kazama… The leader's been heralded as 'the one' to take down Jin. 'The one' who'd win –"

That infuriates Hwoarang beyond measure, to the point where he rushes back to the messenger and forces him against the wall, ignoring the stuttered shout that followed when his forearm presses against his throat. He grits his teeth tightly and hisses lowly, "_I am _'the one'."

"Calm yourself," Baek remarks sternly from behind him. He immediately adheres to his master's command – his master knows best, after all – and walks back until he's accusingly glaring at the cardboard box as though he's this new 'leader' and this new 'resistance'.

Something so small and so meagre… A _small_ force? What good would a small force do against the Mishima Zaibatsu and Kazama? He raises his gloved hands and massages his temples, trying to release the tension that's been gathering from the frustration of this new information, _There's gotta be something more to it…_

A name dances on the end of his tongue, daring to dart out from behind his teeth, "Lars Alexandersson."

"Y-yes!" the messenger stutters, moving from his forced position against the wall, "That was the name!"

He's heard stories, he admits… Small stories here and there, but he crushed them in his own mind and buried them, left them to rot and die. He doesn't want to believe that there might be something more capable than himself and his own forces in this cause. G Corporation's been too quiet and useless as of late without Kazuya or Lee – and now this… _army, _led under the most renowned Captain in the world?

No, this is _his _fight, this is _his _victory, and this is _his _revenge… for the right reasons.

"What are you going to do?" Baek asks, adjusting his hat. He hears the other men and women stir behind him, and some snide murmur from Miguel down in the far back suggesting that an alcoholic escape would be best for now.

Hwoarang turns, folds his arms and leans against the wall, eyebrows furrowed, "We wait. We wait for him to come to us."

* * *

Alisa's scanners are going off the charts. So many life forms! Per Lars' request, she's trying to identify the strongest fighter in the vicinity, and as she does, she continues to battle the weaker opponents, "I believe the leader is just north of this location!" There's a roar of chainsaws thereafter, and she's poised and ready for them to dare to approach her again, "Please go on ahead, I will deter these men for the time being!"

Lars nods and rushes past. He navigates past numerous boxes, through numerous opponents until he finds him standing there, smoking a cigarette with his free hand in his pocket. He stops for a moment, finding that he is alone with the man, and he notes how much his red hair well and truly stands out. He is strong, that is obvious…

"Lars, right?" he asks, dropping the cigarette and crushing it under his boot.

Another nod. He approaches and extends a hand, "Yes, I am Lars. Are you –"

A fierce kick whips around, and the man's heel dives straight into Lars' hand. He reels, pulling it back and cursing in colourful Swedish. As he grips it, he glares at the opponent, who looks entirely unamused and uninterested in whatever he has to say. Lars furrows his eyebrows and takes a step back before he attacks again, "I'm not here to fight."

"And I'm not here to make _friends,_" he snits, "I'm here to stop a fucking war."

"Please… We're not enemies," the pain's beginning to dissipate now, so he lets go and runs his fingers through his hair, "Myself and my partner sought you out to have a discussion with you. You see, I am part of the Tekken Force, and my unit and I have broken away from the Zaibatsu… But we are not enough to take down Jin. That's why we looked for you, because together, we _will _be enough. We will be 'the one'… Hwoarang, correct?"

Well, that's interesting. He lowers his guard, "Yeah… How'd you find me?"

"Alisa… is very good at finding things. She's still fighting your soldiers. If you call them off, I will call her off and we can all have a discussion about a plan of action," he offers a smile, to which Hwoarang does not return. He instead looks him over – he looks kind, intelligent, genuine – and nods, walking past him to the commotion.

Lars follows him quietly. He's only been around the man – the attractive man, he might add – for a few minutes and he already feels agitated. He supposes that Jin was right in a sense, way back when – he's a handful, a hothead and haughty. In addition to that, he also quickly deduces that he looks damn good in jeans.

* * *

"I don't know what to do, master."

He's frustrated. Lars is truly a good guy, and his soldiers appear to be in top notch – he particularly remembers that guy with the badass sword. But as much as he knows that he needs the help, he doesn't want to accept it. He wants to do this on his own, with his own men – he wants to be the one to knock Kazama off of his stupid high horse.

Baek gently places a hand on his shoulder and offers him a small smile, "I think you do know."

He sighs. Baek's right, Hwoarang does know. He's going to go to Lars' camp tomorrow morning. He's going to look for him, talk to him and devise plans. He's going to make their soldiers train together, become more familiar with each other and integrate them so that they become one functioning unit. And together, they're going to take down Kazama, end this war and reinstate peace to the world, no matter how boring the world will be thereafter.

"The right thing," he says.

Baek nods, his smile widening, "Who knows? You might become friends. You need somebody other than myself, Hwoarang. I'm sure he understands the lust for revenge and the hatred for that same man. I'm sure there are other things you could bond over, too. You need a friend, not just a mentor."

* * *

Baek'd been right – there's a lot that they could bond over. They loved music – well, him more so than Lars, but it's nice to talk to someone about chord progressions without having the other person quirk an eyebrow so high that it fell off their face; and he could listen and understand what Lars is on about with art, even though he's not as good as he is. They both like beer, they both think that Xiaoyu's the ultimate example of a stalker and they both think that the Zaibatsu's the armpit of the universe.

It seems he's struck a nerve, though, when he asked about his family. Hwoarang couldn't remember his own, so one of his usual questions to a new friend is to ask about his or her family, his or her experiences with them and so on. But Lars goes unusually quiet and merely says that he has a Mother, who he misses dearly. It takes a while for it to key in – his Mother's died sometime – so he goes to the next question, "What about your Dad?"

Lars excuses himself. Hwoarang doesn't see him for many hours after that until he wanders into the darker parts of Tokyo, heading to a bar for something nice to drink. He sees Lars there, clutching a glass and glaring at his own reflection. A frown crosses his face for a fraction of a second before he begins to approach. As he does, there's a sound, and the glass crumbles in the Swede's hand.

…His hand's bleeding.

Well shit.

Lars notes this, apologises to the bartender and stands, heading to the bathroom to pick out the shards and clean the cuts. Hwoarang follows and pushes the door open with his leg before it can close wholly. He growls, takes the man's injured hand and begins to pick out the shards, "Let me do that, because clearly you're in no state to do anything other than stand up."

He feels kinda guilty, because he wouldn't have come to the bar and fucked his hand up if he hadn't been a stickybeak and asked about his Father. The Korean, though, didn't expect him to answer here and now as he leans against the wall and lets someone take care of him for a change, "I never knew my Father. All I have now is his name – Heihachi Mishima."

"You're a Mishima?" he splutters, pulling out another large piece of glass and placing it on the sink. He's sure that there are many smaller shards that he can't get out, so he thinks over his options for hospitals. He looks to him, noting how his blue eyes gaze into nothingness. He really looks troubled by such a fact, "You sure don't act like one."

"I am _nothing _like him," he seethes, and then he subdues again.

Hwoarang remains silent. The glass is all out now – or, well, at least what he can see – and he's cleaning the blood off slowly, watching the colour swirl down. Once he's satisfied, he shuts off the tap, release's the man hand, and takes a step back, looking at him with a familiar slouch, "Never said you were."

Lars blinks. There's a heavy feeling in his heart – he understands. When he first told Tougou – his unit, even – that he's related to that man, he could almost see the fear cross their eyes for a moment. They're afraid that he'd become like him, that he's truly a Mishima through and through if his skill in battle is anything to go by. But Hwoarang understands. Hwoarang, the one who understands and isn't afraid.

It's not up until now that he really believes that he'll be the one, or at least part of it – he doesn't mean to sound condescending, but Hwoarang's still very young compared to him. Young and talented, but young and reckless, and it could cost him his life in the war. But even so… he's still fearless and committed. He can see that now. And he likes that.

He doesn't know what comes over him, then, but he swiftly crosses the small room until the other man's boxed in between the wall, the basin and the hand dryer. Lars then moves to kiss him, but he turns his head away – and he won't have that. He grabs his chin and forces him into it, and despite the initial protest, he seems to settle a little, responding favourably when able.

But stuff starts to move way too fast, there are many hands, and he's being held, wedged between the cold, unyielding wall and the warm, muscular body. It's an interesting feeling, almost pleasant, even; but all the same, he hates feeling trapped – so Hwoarang pushes him away lightly, watching him stumble a little. It's not that he doesn't want it, it's that he's unsure about himself and if he feels for Lars or not, "Dude, no. You're drunk."

"You know, Resistance Leader," he begins with a crafty smirk, "There's a resistance… in your pants."

He makes a face and tries to hide his amusement. A drunk Lars is definitely an interesting Lars. Better than a drunk, angry Hwoarang anyway, which is his default in such a situation, "Let's go to the hospital or some shit. You need to get that hand looked at properly. I'm not a nurse and I'm not the best at seeing tiny little glass shards."

"And then what?" Lars presses, turning and leaving the bathroom on spaghetti-like legs. He's not given an answer, not even as they leave the bar and start thinking about which way the hospital is, because Hwoarang doesn't know and won't know for a while.

* * *

The days drew nearer. They'd have to fight, win, and then what?

Hwoarang almost feels sick thinking about it. Lars quickly became of value to him after that, to the point where he could quietly steal a kiss and not feel bad, or be treated in the same manner, only a little less daringly. He doesn't quite know what Lars means to him, or visa versa, but he knew he'd be uncomfortable if he abruptly left after all of this, never to be seen again. At the same time, he thinks that's what going to happen.

They're alone again when Lars finally sits up from his position on the leather couch and runs his knuckles down the Korean's cheek, "Something is on your mind," he snaps his head away and resumes glaring at that little piece of floor that's somehow offended him. Lars frowns deeply for a moment before placing both of his hands in his lap, "Would you please speak to me?"

"What's gonna happen after next week?" he finally inquires.

"In what sense?" Lars asks.

"If we win… If we're the ones… What's gonna happen after that?" he looks to him, "You leavin'?"

"I don't know what's going to happen, Hwoarang," he replies curtly, massaging his temples. The stresses of training the men gave him headaches the closer the time came, "We won't know until afterwards. For all we know, one of us may die –"

"Don't say that," he hisses.

Lars merely shrugs and looks to the dim, flickering lights of the television in front of him, "It is the truth, though. Either one of us may die during the fighting. Jin may kill us both. But we shouldn't think on the possibilities, this is a _global _war we're trying to stop. Even if one of us _does _die, the other needs to help undo what Jin has done."

He feels anxiety swarm deep into his stomach, and nausea soon joins. He can't imagine them being apart now, they're too good as friends or… whatever the hell this is. It's only here that he's realised something, though – Lars has successfully broken down his walls. That little fort he built for himself around his heart, letting nobody but Baek in, he broke through it. He is the one that he needs. And no matter what happens afterward, he knows that he can't let him go. Kazama is his challenge, but Lars is his better, his improvement.

"Is there something you need to say?" Lars suddenly asks, a little alarmed by Hwoarang's breathing. His blue eyes are wide with surprise – he's not used to seeing Hwoarang emote anything, no matter how small – aside from anger and the occasional grin. He deeply cares for the youth, but he's never really been sure on how he feels towards him, other than perhaps a form of friendship and overly intimate companionship.

"Just don't get yourself killed, alright?" he mutters, turning his head and looking towards the window. His pride smashes anything else he wanted to say to nothing, and it sits there on the tip of his tongue, not daring to venture beyond the border.

Lars merely smiles and pats his thigh encroachingly, "For you, Hwoarang, I will avoid it entirely."

The words settle him a little, but he's surprised that he's become that panicked about losing Lars. With an increasing amount of Lars-related thoughts on his mind and no way to voice them, he gingerly places his hand over the other man's and grips it, redirecting his gaze from the window to that stupid, stained piece of carpet again.

* * *

"This way!" the older man sounds, waving over his designated unit. They meet with the other Tekken Force soldiers head on, and like a dying wave, they snap in half under the force of the Resistance. He's going to get to Jin, and he's going to give him a piece of his mind – and then he's going to dwell in the quiet that he has earned for himself, Hwoarang and everyone else.

Lars hasn't seen the redhead since they broke the first line, and it worried him. He knows he can take care of himself, but still, he cares for him and would like to know that he's okay. He spins in a small circle and strikes the next officer in the throat with his foot, before using that body as leverage and propelling himself over another larger chunk of soldiers.

He glances up at the Gargoyle's Perch, and he sees him there beside Nina's dead body, flickering eyes gazing down at the masses below. He knows Jin very well – he's seething – and he watches as he disappears back into his lonesome throne room, awaiting the first challenger to take down with his own fists. He is a patient man – a patient, angry man – and he waits.

The fighting rages on, and with fewer men than anticipated, he's at the foot of the tower, running up it as fast as he can. He wishes that Alisa had not turned on him so late in the game – another reason to destroy Jin – but when he finally reaches the top and sees her with her chainsaws out and thrusting them into Baek's torso with an anguished, furious Hwoarang watching, he feels his heart break for him.

"Baek!"

His cries are strangled as a soldier holds him down to the floor, and he can feel the vibration of Baek's body hitting the ground. Jin growls some command to the soldier, who finally lifts his foot off of the Korean's back and lets him go to his fallen master; and Tougou's hand is on Lars' shoulder, because they both understand loss. They both understand it very well.

Hwoarang's muttering many things, and Lars watches as his raw emotions finally bubble to the surface and he dashes towards Jin, ready to attack and rip him apart. And what he sees shocks him – that at the very core, they are different enough to work. They are different enough in one aspect that maybe together, they really are the ones that will stop this.

He remembers well when his Mother died in the bombings – he withdrew into himself. He became cold, vengeful and bitter. He would wait to strike, and strike only at the very heart until his opponent too froze over. But if Lars is ice, formed and controlled, then Hwoarang is fire – pure and untamed, but just as bitter. Just as angry. Just as hurt. Just as powerful.

Lars charges at Alisa.

He hits her in the face first, and she counters with a vertical chainsaw strike, but he raises his arm to block it, thankful that the armour is so strong. He keeps forcing himself to realise that Alisa's not human, she's a robot – she has been _made, _she does not have real feelings, it's just a face that Jin painted on her… And he _needs _to remember. But he can't. She's been good to him, way back when.

He's tuned everything out around him. Tougou and his other soldiers can handle those that remain in the room, and he knows that despite his emotionally unstable state, Hwoarang can handle Jin for the time being – but nobody knows about Alisa. Nobody knows how she fights and what to watch out for except for him.

He needs to disable her.

"Awaiting orders," she suddenly says, poised, "Command?"

"Kill him!" Jin hisses, throwing out an electrified fist across Hwoarang's face.

"Eradicating."

She flies towards him, chainsaws still up and ready, and strike after strike after strike, Lars is forced back against the wall. She cuts him across the face, and he winces, hoping that it won't give him another scar. Before she can attack him again, he grabs both of her arms and rips them off, throwing them out the window thereafter.

As expected, she begins to 'regrow', for lack of a better word, her arms. However, Lars is faster, having drawn a handgun and firing it at the centre of Alisa's body. It rips through the metal and leaves a gaping hole, which she inspects for a moment before going after him again. He knows that she does not have a disable button, but he's trying to think on where and where her most important circuits are. She can be repaired, restored –

There's footsteps to his right. Lars quickly glances around the room, noting that everyone aside from Jin's soldiers and Baek himself is still alive. However, he can hear footsteps, many footsteps ascending – and he realises that Jin's called for back up. So he barks hurriedly, weaving beneath another one of Alisa's fists, "Shut the door! Hold the door!"

Hwoarang's oblivious to his surroundings, aside from Kazama before him – though he does hear Lars' shout and inwardly grins despite the pain. Lars is still alive and doing what he himself is not very good at – leading. Hwoarang was always more of a soldier, a warrior than a leader, and this entire experience so far had shown him that. He could never be a leader.

A sharp pain suddenly spikes on the outer-left side of his knee. Kazama then follows up that strong kick with two quick fists, one to the stomach and the other to the face – so Hwoarang retaliates by whipping his leg across Kazama's head, the spur of his boot ripping open the skin. He leans to the left, avoiding an axe kick, and delivers with one of his own.

And then there's a gunshot.

Everyone turns and watches as pink hair falls to the ground. Smoke wafts high into the air – Lars has done it. He has disabled and shutdown, albeit forcefully, Alisa. Nothing crosses his face – not one emotion. He is ice. He walks over the body and aims at Jin, approaching him, and a scowl appears on the man's face. He's cornered.

"And what are you going to do, Lars?" Jin drawls slowly, lowering his fists. He is bloodied, beaten and wounded, but as far as he's concerned, he's not out yet, "You know I have bypassed death before."

Yes, he does know, but that doesn't mean he's not going to try. Lars offers him a shrug in response and speaks slowly, cornering him against the open window alongside Hwoarang, who is in right stance, "Do you remember what you used to tell me in our meetings, Jin? Only the strongest survive? Persistence is the key to victory?" A small grin, "Never turn your back, don't look away and never get cornered?" His foot's at the edge now, but there's no red eyes, and Lars takes this as a good sign, "You should listen to your own advice more often."

Hwoarang attacks, his right foot smashing across Kazama's head, forcing him out the window. There's a crack. As he falls, Lars shoots the falling body four times – twice in the head, and twice in the heart. They watch until Jin's body finally hits the ground far below, and it's disfigured, distorted, broken and wrong. They know, then. They know that they've won.

Tougou roars something at the soldiers who are fighting to get into the room, and they stop. Lars looks over how many have lived, counting about eight, including himself, Tougou and Hwoarang. He's pleased, for a moment, until he notes Baek's body again. His life didn't have to be lost. He doesn't even know the circumstances, but he knows that it didn't have to be lost.

He looks to Hwoarang, who is looking down at Jin's body, but for the first time he sees something other than rage. He's upset. He's very upset. He has seen war and he has fought as a soldier, but he never really experienced… loss. He's too young to have really felt it, and there weren't enough people that meant the world for him to really feel it. There's a few tears clinging to his eyes, and it's not because they won, it's not because they were 'the one', but rather for Baek. And he understands that pain entirely.

He turns the safety back on his gun, pockets it and grabs the Korean's arm gently, waiting for some kind of response. Soon enough, Hwoarang reluctantly turns into his hold, and they just stay there, looking down on the man who almost destroyed the world, but ruined them both to the ground anyhow.

* * *

Hwoarang's checking over his backpack's contents at Narita airport's waiting area. There hasn't been a giant welcome reception or any of the sort – and he can understand that. The aftermath's just generally been incredibly quiet. Surprised, even. Now there is time to grieve, for everyone, and after that they will rebuild their society. Lars took the Zaibatsu, just like he knew he would. He's a great leader.

And Lars is before him now, Tougou on his left and another random on his right, looking down at the redhead. The shadow irks Hwoarang, so he looks up and indeed confirms that it's them. He says nothing for a few moments, noting that he's sort of unsettled. Worried. Upset. Lars greets him with a small bow and moves back as he stands and slings his backpack over his shoulder. He then asks, "Where are you going to go? What are you going to do?"

"Going back to Seoul with Baek's body," he responds, looking down to his feet. He is so tired. He is so damn tired, "He'll be buried beside his Father. But I gotta break the news to his Mum, first…" he looks up with a small huff and smile, "She's a really nice lady. The one who found me on the streets, actually," his smile fades, "I'm going to stay with her for a while. She'll need me as much as I'll need her."

"And after that?"

"I don't know."

Lars hesitates and runs his fingers through his hair.

He doesn't want him to leave, but he knows that he must. He has – had – a life outside of this war, and he deserves to go back to it. But… he wants to be involved in Hwoarang's life. He wants to stay in Hwoarang's life, and he wonders if he feels the same about him. Lars knows that he can't forget him – they are so similar, yet different, and it makes him desirable. He really cares. Too much now, he's sure.

_I've… I've gotta say something –_

He's suddenly grabbed by the chin, and he's being _forced _to look into those sienna eyes. Lars watches as a smile reappears on his face. It's wide and true. Hwoarang lets go of his chin and runs his knuckles down the side of Lars' face in the same fashion as what he did to him weeks earlier, only more forcefully, more surely, "I'll come back. Promise. Then we can talk about this, work this out and find out what we wanna be in the future." But for now, he needs to go home, unwind and heal.

The Korean's hand drops to his side. He fishes out his crumpled plane ticket and starts to walk away, half-facing where he needs to be and half-facing where he wants to be. He nods affirming and repeats while he's still within Lars' earshot, "I'll come back."

Lars smiles too, "Make sure that you do."

A small salute, and Hwoarang is gone, disappearing through the gates.

The Swede turns away and heads back to the Zaibatsu, the ice around his heart finally melted after so long.


End file.
